


Wheel of Westeros Book One: Rise of Jon Part Two (continued)

by Thrafrau (annmcbee)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, The Brotherhood Without Banners (ASoIaF), The Old Gods (ASoIaF), Werewolf Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau
Summary: Dany says goodbye to a trusted general, and comes clean with Griff in a letter. Jon and Val make a connection as he begins to discover her secrets. The brothers deliver the news that his brother Bran is also alive. Jon determines to join Stannis in taking Winterfell, and he'll have at least one of his black brothers at his side. Jaime learns the the Brotherhood is killing off the Freys, and watches his daughter suffer under Cersei's thumb. This is a continuation of the second chapter in the Rise of Jon.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Val, Young Griff/Daenerys Targaryen
Kudos: 7





	Wheel of Westeros Book One: Rise of Jon Part Two (continued)

Chapter 4: Daenerys

Dany chose her golden gown in honor of Ser Barristan, though it was terribly tight in the waist. As Shyrly and Jhiqui fastened her headdress, she gave the letter one more read.

_Dear Griff, _

_I apologize for my lack of communication these past months. I have heard of your successes in the Stormlands and that you have taken our family home of Dragonstone. There was a time when I dreamed at night of arriving upon those shores myself, and sitting in the throne room of our ancestors, but I have determined to concede that privilege to you, even without reliable assurance that you are indeed my blood. Your sweet letters and what acquaintances have told me of your goodness and bravery make me inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. I am also determined not to hold ill will toward you for going forward with your reclamation without my consultation or permission…but the reason for my forgiveness is not for lack of suspicion or because I am one to be taken lightly. I have learned hard lessons about making allowances, and my enemies will tell you that I can be ferociously unforgiving. _

_But what I know of you, I love sincerely. Knowing of your existence has given me a joy beyond description.But my allowances are not a result of my love and joy...they are compensation. For I am afraid, sweet nephew, that I cannot leave the free cities until I can be assured of the end of slavery here. I am making progress, to be sure, but since I’ve realized that ending slavery in just one or two cities is not sufficient, it will be some time before I can leave this place. I ask you to be patient, my love, if you can, and since I ask such a great favor of you, I feel I also owe you total honesty. Since your first letter, I have dreamed every night of our nuptials like a giddy young girl. But there is something missing from the dream of our union, about which I think is only fair I tell you now, so that you can make an informed decision about the future. My sweet Aegon, I am afraid I am unable to bear children. _

_As you know, I was once wed to a Dothraki Khal, with whom I conceived one child that died at birth. The same evil that killed my husband and child has rendered me barren. All signs of fecundity in a woman are lacking in me, your betrothed. I understand the position in which this puts you, and puts me. I must rule the Seven Kingdoms with you, and you must continue our family line. There is but one way these two things may both be accomplished…that you take two wives. I will marry you and love you with all my heart and soul, but another must provide you with sons and daughters. _

_ I understand that this violates the laws of the Gods, but I ask you to remember that House Targaryen does not and never has answered fully to the laws of gods or men. We are special, my beloved, and my dragons are the proof. So pray on this suggestion as you must, but consider both the joys of holding your own babe in your arms as well as the power of my dragons as you do so. Obviously, I require that I meet and approve of any woman you consider, which I’m sure you understand. _

_To aid in that process, I send this letter with my general, Ser Barristan Selmy. You would have heard of his skill and bravery, and that he was a faithful servant to House Targaryen for many years. He has taken many a wound in defending my rule here in the Free Cities, and despite his protests, I have determined he should serve in an advisory position to our family instead. He would say otherwise, but the fact is his wisdom in what is right and honorable in the ways of Westeros has made me rethink many a reckless decision. He has taught me much of prudence and diplomacy…a thing we dragons sometimes lack to our detriment. I assure you, he has done more than enough to prove his loyalty and make up for his short-lived service to the usurper. If you treat him with the hospitality and respect he deserves, that will only be more proof that you are the honorable man you are reported to be._

_With sincere love and devotion from your aunt,_

_Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Free Cities, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and Breaker of Chains_

She rolled it tight and sealed it before clasping on her finger jewels, and bade Missandei to announce her.

It was a delight to finally freely enjoy the courtyard. The stench of the city had died down since the plague had finally begun to ebb, thanks in no small part to treatments concocted by Marwyn, as well as the slowing of contagion brought about by Victarion and his control of the trade waters. Thankfully, he was at sea now. Their highly secret wedding had been punctuated by a surprisingly pleasurable evening in her bed, but at ceremonies and celebrations he was decidedly less enjoyable. Her court musicians stopped playing momentarily after she made her entrance, and she asked Ser Barristan, who stood looking grim in his new dragon-emblazoned doublet, to stand. He did so with some difficulty, owing to the latest wound from a spear to the hip. She lifted her wine goblet for a toast.

“A toast to Ser Barristan the Bold, without whom our cities would be lost. No more honorable man has ever served me, and so no braver, for honor and duty are as much or more a battle to maintain in these times. We will miss you dearly, my brave knight, but it’s because you deserve every reward in the world that I give you what I still long for myself…home.”

As the crowd of her advisors, captains, men-at-arms, ladies and young hostages erupted in cheers, she walked into the wide floor at the center and nodded at the band, who began to play. She held her hand out toward Ser Barristan, blinking his wet eyes as many a captain shook his hand, and beckoned him to join her in a dance. As he clasped her hand and waist, the band played a song that was at once melancholy and joyous:

_Three men is all they were,_

_Three men out at sea,_

_Three men came aboard my ship and took my true love from me._

_I couldn’t believe_

_She wanted to leave_

_She wanted to leave._

_I loved you so long._

_Since you were a child. _

_I’ve cared for you every need. _

_I’ve tried to make you smile._

_And all the while_

_You wanted to leave._

_You wanted to leave…**[1]**_

Dany did not remark on how old and tired the good knight looked, even with his white beard shaven clean and his head held high. It was no surprise he seemed troubled. He had begun to act like something of a father to her, which was all the more reason to let him go.

“It’s not too late to change your mind, your grace. It’s never so for a queen,” Ser Barristan said.

“Don’t tempt me…I meant it when I said I will miss you. But this must be done.”

“Must it?”

“I have to know what sort of man Aegon is. I have to know his true intentions, and whether he is who he says he is…whether he has, you know…”

“The taint. I do know, your grace, and if he is truly the son of Rhaegar, then there is hope, but…”

“And that’s all we can ask for now. You will find out if that hope is misplaced.”

“If he is your nephew I will protect and serve him. If he is your nephew, and your _ally_.”

“Of course he is my ally. He needs my dragons to hold the kingdoms. You are the next best thing, and I owe him that.”

“No my queen, you owe nothing at all…and what of Victarion?”

“Griff must never know about him…and not just for my sake. Victarion’s brother threatens us all.”

“I fear for you my queen. Victarion is a dangerous man as well.”

“And you disapprove of my infidelity to Griff.”

“As I said, you owe Griff nothing. Not until he can prove who he is…and I only disapprove of you putting yourself at risk.”

“Oh my sweet knight…” _No man can do to me what hasn’t already been done._

When the song ended, Dany pointed up at the sky behind him. He turned to see the fireworks she had commissioned for him explode into the sky in the shape of three yellow stalks of wheat, the sigil of House Selmy. She stood on her toes and planted a long kiss on his cheek that left the dark red smear of her smile behind.

Chapter 5: The White Wolf

They were packed up and ready at dawn: Jon and a small crew of Freefolk captains, as well as Osha and Rickon. It had taken some time to rustle up the young Lord of Winterfell, who had been chasing rats all over Castle Black like a feral cat, howling at the moon, and making scattered snow shelters for himself. Osha had told Jon he refused to sleep inside, no matter how cold it got. When dawn came, they found him curled up in a bundle under a scraggly pine next to the black wolf. Shaggy Dog growled fiercely at anyone who approached, including Osha. Only Ghost or Jon could get that beast to submit. Rickon also growled and gnashed his teeth at strangers, and the castle was full of those.

Jon stood before the crew and addressed them: Tormund and his sons, Soren Shieldbreaker, Boroq and his giant boar, Harle (both the Handsome and the Huntsman – who stood on opposite sides of the group at all times), Blind Doss, the Great Walrus and Howd Wanderer. Shaggy Dog salivated heavily at the big boar, but if he made a move, Ghost answered with a nip to his shoulder. He was already twice his brother’s size after all. Of course, Ghost would have gone after the boar as well, if his thoughts weren’t also Jon’s thoughts.

“Men of the Freefolk…you have joined my side despite the risks, and perhaps, your better judgment. You have my gratitude. But you also have my promise. I will avenge the spearwives taken by Ramsay Bolton, and I will bring back your king Mance Rayder, whether dead or alive. What harm has befallen him will be visited on House Bolton one hundred fold.”

The men cheered as Jon lifted his little brother onto the horse with Osha. Before he could mount his own ride, he noticed Val at the flank, tying the baby they all called Monster to her own horse, wrapped tightly in a thick bundle of furs.

“What are you doing, my lady, if I may ask?”

Val continued what she was doing without looking at him. “You may ask…in fact you already did. I think it’s pretty clear though that we’re coming with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

Val did stop then and then walked away from him toward his chambers, muttering orders to Wun-Wun the giant as she walked. The giant stood near the horse as to protect the child, and Jon stomped after Val in frustration. This he didn’t need.

Val let herself into the room as if it were her own, and Jon followed, leaving the door open. When she faced him, he was momentarily struck by her beauty, which he had rarely gotten to see up close. Her honey-golden hair lay in a shiny braid over one shoulder and her pale blue eyes looked especially icy in the morning light. He breathed in her smell: dying leaves, baby’s breath, and something like sweet mead and burning wax. She was as lovely as any highborn lady he had seen in his life, with cheekbones that could cut hide. She wore all white, including the white bearskin cloak with the weirwood tree’s face worked into it that, in this moment, made Jon feel uneasy. He had many questions about where his relationship with his father’s gods was going, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted the answers.

“You can’t join us. It isn’t safe…for the baby if not for you. I’m aware you can hold your own, but if we run into a storm, little Monster won’t make it,” he told her.

“Then I’ll leave him here. He’s one of us after all…my people will take care of him.”

Jon shook his head. He couldn’t risk leaving Monster under Thorne’s care. He already felt his friend Sam would never forgive him for trading him, who was his lover’s only child, for Mance’s babe in order to protect him from the Red Witch. “You know I can’t do that.”

“No, you can’t, can you? You’re a soft one for babies and children…for now.”

“I swore a vow that I would protect those weaker than myself,” he said.

“And I swore to Mother Mole I would help you see how strong you are. The North has plans for you, Jon Snow. And they go beyond sheltering orphan babes and deformed children.”

“Mother Mole?” Mother Mole was a woods witch of the Freefolk who had taken her followers to Hardhome after Mance’s defeat. Jon hadn’t seen her there, however, and she wasn’t among the Freefolk who came back with him.

“I was her pupil since I was a girl. She said the Old Gods would return in the form of the wild things of the North. Like the bears and the eagles. And the wolves…”

She touched a finger to the engraved wolves on Jon’s breastplate.

“I told Tormund. I’m no god.” Her smell overwhelmed him, growing riper and full of heat. An ember of desire remained from his earlier run-in with Melisandre. In spite of himself, he stepped a little closer to her.

“I didn’t think so either,” Val whispered. “I never thought a _crow_…” She walked up to Jon and looked into his eyes so pointedly it disturbed him. “But then I saw your eyes… and thought, _why_? What is the matter with your eyes? Why can I not see myself in your eyes?”[2]

“I thought you would marry one of the Queen’s men,” Jon said softly.

“Why would I do that? Their power is a pile of ashes. Yours is as eternal as the wind.”

“I’m just a man, like any other.”

“No…you are not a man. Not a man at all. I’ll show you…”

In that moment Jon knew Val had something to do with what had happened after he died. _What did you do,_ he wanted to ask. _What magic is this and why has it chosen me? What will become of me_? But he didn’t ask. He touched her cold white chin and brought her lips to his, kissing her until the warmth of her breath filled his whole body.

Chapter 6: Jaime

Myrcella looked lovely, even if that hideous throne of sad melted swords did make her look like a child sitting in it. Jaime remembered when she had looked that way sitting on her regular old chair at the dinner table: tiny feet swinging, the tabletop practically up to her chin. She had always been good. From her first breath, she was so sweet. Jaime didn’t know where she came from. She was nothing like Cersei – nothing like him. No meanness, no jealousy…just good. He thought, _if I could make something so good, so pure…maybe I’m not a monster_.[3] It was painful to see her face contorted with confusion and worry as captains and lords brought with them a continuous deluge of news regarding the inevitable crumbling of her grasp on the Kingdoms…a grasp that was mostly Cersei’s and nothing Myrcella had ever wanted in the first place.

The Targaryen boy was to march on Maidenpool, according to the sources Qyburn had sent slithering about Crackclaw Point, but it was unknown where they planned to land once they sailed from Dragonstone. Cersei had sent huge shipments of wildfire to both Rook’s Rest and Duskendale, thinking arrogantly that the boy was as stupid as she was in actually landing where half the area’s population would be there to greet him. Even worse, she had promised to pay the crown’s debt to the Iron Bank in full by taking the opportunity to march on the Reach and take the entire gold stores from Highgarden. Jaime had wasted nearly an hour of his time trying to explain that the only thing worse than not making payments to the Bank was to deprive them of their interest payments ongoing. Furthermore, if they wanted to make Randyll Tarly Warden of the Reach, they might first fortify his troops at Maidenpool rather than reducing them by half. Now the man could very well die at the hands of the Golden Company, or be mortally wounded before returning to take charge of a region that was no longer be the wealthiest in the realm. Of course Myrcella understood, but there was, ironically, nothing she could do.

The most disturbing news came from Septon Luceon Frey, son of Walder, who had been conveniently absent from the Sept of Baelor the day it was turned to rubble. He was promised the position of High Septon by order of the crown as soon as the construction of a new Sept began, which had he the brains the Crone granted pigeons, he would know would happen three days from never. Other members of the Frey family had met with some bad ends, it seemed, and Luceon was rather hoping he might avoid their fate. Several of the Frey men had fallen fatal victim to _Northern treachery_ he told them. He even insinuated that three of Walder’s sons had been baked up and served to him in meat pies, courtesy of the Manderlys, and Aenys Frey had broken his neck riding into a trap set by the Umbers. Now Danwell Frey, who had been in a party sent to Greywater Watch to teach the Northern Reeds a lesson about sheltering their enemies, was found hanging from a tree with most of his body burned to a crisp. Raymund Frey’s head was found days later, traveling across the King’s Road on the back of a tortoise.[4] Walder Frey and his son Hosteen were now holed up at the Twins for fear of being ambushed by the mysterious Brotherhood, who openly claimed responsibility for the deaths. Jaime knew it was only a matter of time before _she_ found them…

“Lord Baelish,” Cersei said, chiming in before her exhausted daughter could reply, “Have your investigators at Harrenhall not been able to rein in these miscreants? I understood that your men obtained confessions from several prisoners…”

Petyr Baelish had developed a paunch in his time away from the capital, but his slick demeanor and snide tone remained. Jaime found his presence aggravating, and he knew Cersei had requested it in order to “deal with” Trystane Martell. Myrcella fancied the Dornish prince’s son a great deal, but the Targaryen invasion had given convenient excuse to delay their wedding.

“Indeed, your grace. But the draw of the Red God is strong among the smallfolk. New followers join the cult daily, and they receive no shortage of support. One would think the accident in the Sept would have reinforced the faith in the Seven, but it seems the opposite has occurred…who could have known…”

_Anyone who thinks about it for five seconds or longer_, thought Jaime.

“As you know my natural daughter has recently wed the heir to the Vale, and given this unfortunate situation, I thought we might use our position to renew some interest in the true gods. The Festival of the Mother is of course past…but I thought we could declare a new tradition in honor of the loss of the Sept of Baelor. A Festival of the Father, in which we celebrate justice. My daughter is quite the event planner…if you will, it would be our honor to design a holy celebration that might distract the people from their woes and turn their attention away from the Red God…and against the Brotherhood.”

Petyr paced creepily to and fro as he spoke, but Jaime had to give it to him…he knew how to work a room. At the thought of this “Festival of the Father” idea, Myrcella’s face brightened. Her betrothed held her hand and smiled, too. Trystane was just as aghast at Cersei’s incompetency as Myrcella. His impatience to gain the crown for Dorne, however, was going to be the death of him. Jaime didn’t try to deter Cersei. That would only strengthen her resolve to murder him. All Jaime could do was distract her until he could get the young man safely out of King’s Landing.

Cersei was less and less open to his advances, and he was less and less able to feign unbridled desire. She was still beautiful and skilled enough at sex, but the way she had been treating their daughter made him ill to look at her. She had forced Myrcella to cut her hair, then groused about the appearance of her ear, which had been sliced off during some incident in Dorne, for which Cersei obviously blamed Trystane’s family. She forced Myrcella to wear a cloth headdress, which reminded Jaime of a Septa’s wimple, and sniped so much about the right way to hold her head that the poor girl had developed a tic…tilting her little head compulsively at random intervals like a curious sparrow. Every time Cersei snapped at her, she jumped and often wound up pricking her fingers on the stupid chair, after which she would be screamed at for getting blood on her gown. Her only comfort was Jaime and Trystane, and both of them were about to be taken from her.

Chapter 7: Jon

They camped after crossing the Last River and making their way to the shores of the Bay of Ice. A ship would be waiting for them in the morning to take them to Bear Island, but Jon wasn’t going. When the ship arrived, he would pile everything female or under the age of twenty into it and send them off under the protection of Shaggy Dog and the Old Gods. Then he was going to Winterfell, to take it back from Ramsay Bolton, or die trying. Just as they crossed the river, several brothers of the Night’s Watch had come riding up to their party. Jon thought he had been betrayed once again, that Thorne had changed his mind and decided to finish him off. But instead, it was as Devan and Ser Davos had implied…some of his brothers were still on his side. Matthar, Grenn, Satin and Leathers couldn’t fight for Winterfell with him, but they could range south, escorting a Lady of the North safely to her home, and delivering a message. Stannis Baratheon had gained an army and was on his way to Winterfell. That was no surprise, but there was more.Bran was alive, and most likely his uncle Benjen was too.

Bran had shown up at the gates after Jon had gone, accompanied by Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch. The little lady of the swamplands had dragged Bran on a litter for miles, and with the help of Uncle Benjen had made it from far, far north to Castle Black, a little thin and missing the tips of a couple of fingers and toes, but alive. Bran had stayed, for it wasn’t any more safe at Winterfell for him than it was for Rickon, and he was in no shape to travel anyway.

“His eyes were dark and dead-looking from weariness,” Satin told Jon. “He could hardly keep them open. The girl insisted… otherwise we would have made her stay as well.”

Jon was utterly dazed from a combination of profound happiness and a sickness in the pit of his stomach at having missed his brother, to whom he hadn’t spoken since before the fall that took his legs. The last time Jon had seen Bran, he had been unconscious in his bed.

“You must have some story to tell,” Jon said to Meera Reed, swallowing tears. “I owe you an astounding debt, my lady, for bringing my brother back.”

The little daughter of the Crannogmen was pale and exhausted. Slivers of ice had formed at the tips of her brown curls. She slurped a bowl of brown stew made of turnips and squirrel very slowly, as if she wasn’t as starving as she surely must have been.

“You’re welcome, Jon Snow…that is, I think…I think…I brought him back. His body is back and alive and…I think it’s him…”

The poor girl was obviously delirious from cold and exhaustion. Val threw her own bearskin cloak over the girl’s shoulders and eyed Jon carefully as if to tell him to leave her be. Jon nodded.

“You should rest my lady,” he said. “When you’ve had your fill, lady Val will give you a bed in her tent. You can trust Matt and the others to get you home, don’t worry.”

After the women and the boys had gone down for the evening, Jon sat with the men while Leathers and Satin updated him. Thorne had shown no mistreatment of the Wildling charges as of yet. He didn’t shower them with love and affection, but it seemed he genuinely meant them no harm, despite the fact that they could be damned insolent the better part of the time. To his credit, he threatened any man who even talked of raping spearwives with gelding.

“Let’s hope his forbearance lasts,” Jon said.

“He knows nothing, by the way, of Edd and the Hardhome Wildlings,” Leathers added.

“Good,” Jon said. His attention was somewhat distracted by a sound from the women’s tent. It was faint, but it stuck in his ear like an errant gnat. His strange hearing ability was usually advantageous. He could hear game scuttling through woods, even sense it beneath layers of snow. What Ghost couldn’t provide, he could scare up, and his men were thankful and impressed, if a little wary. But this sound was bizarrely niggling…something like women’s chatter, but with a strange rhythm.

“That’s not all,” Satin was saying. “I’ll let the lady tell it, but…well she had a wild story to tell about where they’ve been all this time. A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have believed it, but these days…”

“Shh!” Jon held a finger up to shush Satin and stood staring in the direction of the women’s tent.

“What is it?” Grenn asked.

“Quiet!” Jon felt the men look incredulously at him and each other. His antics had understandably made them a little apprehensive. But this sound… It was Val’s voice, but she wasn’t just talking, and she wasn’t singing Monster to sleep as she sometimes did. Her voice could be so sweet it stirred his soul..._does she know I hear her? Does she want me to? Damn you…concentrate! _It was lower, and had the rhythm of a slowly advancing battle march. Jon left his confused men behind and walked toward the tent slowly. As he approached, the sound of Val’s voice grew louder. She was chanting something in the old tongue, over and over, in a tone that made his blood icy. Jon drew Longclaw as he stepped into the shadows near the tent, careful to stay out of the firelight so his shadow wasn’t visible. Carefully, he peered between the flaps.

Val stood over Meera Reed, who was asleep on a pile of furs. Her hand was clamped over the girl’s temples. Lady Meera slept peacefully, but to the side Osha clutched Monster to her chest, a look of terror on her face. Val’s beautiful blue-gray eyes had gone silvery white.

“Jon…”

Jon jumped and nearly drove Longclaw through Satin’s belly. Without a word, he dragged Satin by the collar into his tent.

“Start talking boy,” he demanded, ignoring Matt and Hop-Robin, who were getting their bedrolls ready for a night of shivering sleep.

“I’m sorry Commander, I was just…”

“Tell me what you know about what happened to me. You had something to do with it, didn’t you.”

“No, Commander. I didn’t…I didn’t know what would happen…I…”

Matt and Hop stood up and looked questioningly at Satin.

“Do you know what that is…do you know what she’s doing in there?” Jon demanded.

“No I don’t. I don’t understand it. I just know that…”

“Come on, come on Sat!”

Satin looked at Matt and Hop and then back at Jon. He sighed like a frustrated child and gritted his teeth. Jon put a hand on his shoulder.

“Satin, please. I’m not your commander anymore, all right? I’m not going to punish you…I just need to know.”

Satin shook his head. “Just like that. What do you think happens to me if I’m no longer your steward, Jon? A new Lord Commander comes along and it’s all over is that what you think? Back to normal…but not for me!”

“Sat…”

“What do you think would happen to me once you’re gone? You think Thorne or any of those sons of bitches are going to let a whore boy be their brother? If I’m lucky I might get away with my arsehole intact, and then where do I go? Back to the brothel? To the gutter? Or will Thorne just send me North tied to my horse so the Others can take me?”

Matt spoke up in a hurt voice. “Gods Sat…we would have stuck up for ya…”

“Yeah Sat we would have…”

Satin cut Hop off. “The two of you and maybe Grenn is that it? Forgive me if I don’t fancy those odds.”

“Satin,” Jon said. “What did you say to Val?”

“I said only that I may as well be dead too. I went to the Red Witch first, but she said your body was destroyed…that it was too late. Val took me aside and acted like to comfort me. I didn’t know what she planned. But whatever she did, I’m not sorry, and I won’t pretend to be.”

“Well I am sorry, Sat,” Jon said quietly, hanging his head. “I failed you. I foreswore my vows and got myself killed, and I never thought about what that meant for you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I will if you let me go with you,” Satin said. “I can’t go back.”

Jon nodded, knowing that telling him he was a condemned man was redundant. He only hoped that this time, he wouldn’t let him down.

[1] Ween. “She Wanted to Leave.” _The Mollusk_. Elektra Records. 1997.

[2] Beagle, Peter S. _The Last Unicorn_. ITC Entertainment. 1982.

[3] Benioff and Weiss. Game of Thrones. Season 6, Episode 1: “The Red Woman.”

[4] Gilligan, Vince. _Breaking Bad._ Season 2, Episode 7: “Negro Y Azul.”


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